Mike Jastrzebski - Key Lime Blues

“Why would I do that?” Elvis asked.

I jumped up and slammed the palms of my hands on the desk in front of me. Elvis didn’t flinch and this made me angrier.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re a sick bastard who gets his kicks out of messing with people’s minds. Maybe you thrive on other’s miseries. Maybe I’m a challenge to you. I’m a non-believer and you need to convince me I’m wrong.”

“Or maybe I’m the real thing.”

“I don’t buy it.” I turned and walked toward the door.

As I reached for the doorknob Elvis called out, “She said you’re not to blame.”

“Thanks, but you’re not going to convince me.”

“He’s not her real father,” Elvis said. “She said her mother left the stores to her.”

For the first time, I felt unsure of myself. I glanced over my shoulder and watched him wipe the table where I’d been leaning. He didn’t look up until he’d folded and dropped the tissue into the trashcan.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“It’s what she said. Look to her stepfather. She claims he killed her mother and when she accused him of doing so, he killed her too.”

“I’m not sure Stewart is a stepfather, but even if he is, the FBI shot the kidnapper.”

“I know. It was the gardener,” Elvis said. “She said he was following her stepfather’s orders.”

“Nice try,” I said. “But the F.B.I. never considered Myron Stewart to be a suspect. There was never anything said about her not being his daughter. And there was never any talk of him killing his wife.”

“Celine’s real father died in a car accident two months before she was born. Myron adopted her when she was a baby.”

I shook my head. “We both know you’re making the whole thing up, but I have to admit you’re good. You’ve done your research, and if I were an ordinary mark you’d have convinced me.”

“I have nothing to gain by doing such a thing. You may not want to believe it, but I’m the real thing. Celine wants her stepfather convicted. She wants peace, and she wants her body found.”

“The police looked,” I said. “And I spent weeks looking for her even after we were pretty sure she was dead. The FBI figured she was being held prisoner somewhere and when the gardener was killed there was no one to feed her or free her. I’m sure she died a pretty horrible death.”

“She didn’t,” Elvis said. “Her stepfather killed her before he even called you.”

I wanted to believe him. There was nothing I would have liked more than to know I hadn’t caused her death. But the truth of the matter was, I still didn’t believe in psychics.

“You’re slick,” I said. “Your research fits your story like a puzzle piece.”

“No research. She’s in a deep hole beneath a barn. She doesn’t like the dark.”

“I guess that makes two of you,” I said. Now that it was time to get to the reason for my visit, I was regretting my confrontational manner. I’ve always hated people who take advantage of the weak and to me that seemed to be the definition of this psychic. Still, I wanted his help so I forced myself to smile. “Now it’s your turn. I need to ask you some questions about Gail Bernard.”

He nodded toward the chair I had vacated. “Please sit back down.”

“And if I don’t want to sit?”

Elvis reached out and touched a button on the top of the desk I hadn’t noticed before. Almost immediately, the door behind me opened. “In that case,” Elvis said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Dom to show you out.”

Dom walked in, the floor shuddered and the lilac scented monster stepped up to my side. He took hold of my arm and squeezed, sending arcs of high voltage pain down to my fingers.

I gritted my teeth, held back a groan, and said, “If your lap dog doesn’t let go of my arm I’m going to break his fingers. After I finish with him, I’m going to come around the desk and break something else.”

We traded stares, and he gave a short nod. Dom released my arm and my fingers began to tingle when he moved away from me.

I sat back down, fighting the urge to massage my arm. Instead, I slid my butt to the edge of the seat and leaned my elbows on the desk. “So where are the diamonds now?”

Elvis tilted his head back and gave me a strange look. “What diamonds?”

“Either you’re a damn good liar or you’re not quite the psychic you claim to be. I thought for sure you’d know why I was here.”

“I’m a psychic, not a mind reader. I don’t have a clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Destiny, the girl you know as Gail, told me she left some diamonds with you. You were supposed to sell them for her.”

Again, he looked confused. “I’m a psychic, why would I be selling diamonds?”

“For twenty percent. I understand they’re worth a small fortune. The person she stole them from wants them back.”

Elvis pushed his chair away from the desk, swiveled it to the side and stared up at the ceiling. “Your story explains some things,” he said.

“Such as?”

Elvis didn’t answer right away, so we sat in silence for a good two minutes. When I was about to say something, he swung back around. “Gail was here this morning. I don’t know anything about diamonds. She came to me and told me she needed a reading. She claimed she was being blackmailed. By you, Mister Darling.”

“Not true,” I said. “And why don’t you call me Wes.”

“I realized right away it wasn’t true.”

“Let me guess. The spirit of the real Elvis told you she was lying.”

Elvis sighed. “You don’t have to believe, Wes. But it would be helpful if you at least tried to have an open mind about the whole thing. After all, I am trying to help you.”

“If you want to help,” I said, “Why don’t you tell me where the diamonds are?”

“You’re not listening,” he said.

“I’m listening,” I said. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m sorry, but this is hard for me.” Elvis took a tissue from atop his desk and began playing with it. “I don’t like to talk about my clients. I try to be discrete about whom I see, and what we discuss. I’m only talking to you right now because it was the only way I could give you my message.” While he talked to me, Elvis began to tear apart the tissue.

Starting at the right corner he tore a two-inch-wide strip. Laying it on the table, he tore another, and yet another until he had four roughly equal strips lying next to each other. He picked them up, left to right, and made a small pile, which he squared up with his fingers. Finally, he folded the pile in half, and folded it again and again until it was reduced to a one-inch square. He reached out and squared the square, and promptly picked it up and dropped the tissue into the trashcan.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Concerned,” he said. “For Gail, for the young girl, and for you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. But if you’ve got those diamonds, you’d better damn well be afraid for yourself. The people looking for Gail are not very nice. They wouldn’t think twice about killing you.”

“I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about any diamonds.” He reached over and adjusted the position of the box, a little to the left and a little to the right. He did this four times, before continuing.

“When Gail came in this morning I gave her a reading. I saw danger. I saw death stalking her. I told her she should not travel for the next couple of days. I told her she’d be in danger the entire time, but death would only catch her if she chose to leave Key West.”

“Sounds like a crock of shit to me.”

Elvis shrugged. “I’ve done all I can to convince you I’m on the level. If it’s any consolation, I know you’ll find her. I’m not sure you can help her though.”